


Cut Like A Jewel

by spockandawe



Series: Want It Fast, Want It Hard [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Past Sexual Abuse, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8533852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: See, this is exactly why you’ve been trying to avoid coming back to Cybertron. Once, you came back once, and you got stuck here for months and ended up saddled with a co-captain you never asked for. And yet, here you are. Again. And it seems like every mech on the planet and across four colonies wants some of your time. In some ways, having a one-on-one with Starscream is nice. Don’t have to worry about causing an interplanetary incident by accident. Don’t have to play nice, or pretend like you actually like him. You can sulk basically as much as you want, and still feel pretty good about being the best leader-type mech in the room.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Watch out for non-explicit discussion of past physical/sexual/emotional abuse in this story. It doesn't go into any real detail, but please tread with caution and take care of yourself first.
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> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/153071979396/cut-like-a-jewel-spockandawe-the-transformers)

See, this is exactly why you’ve been trying to avoid coming back to Cybertron. _Once_ , you came back _once_ , and you got stuck here for months and ended up saddled with a co-captain you never asked for. Plus, you know. Almost witnessing the destruction of all space and time. And okay, after the exciting part was over, that was plenty awkward, but at least you had things to keep you busy. Trials to attend. All that.

And you were just trying to mind your own business, right? You have a _quest_. You have important quest things to take care of. Which you were doing. And then whoops, turns out suddenly you’re in the wrong quadrant of the galaxy altogether, and your map sends you off in a whole other direction, and your quantum leaps _happen_ to take you past Cybertron, and someone (Blaster) _happens_ to tell them that you’re going to be in the area (not how you do things, you wait to tell them until after you’ve already left, for _exactly this reason_ ). And to cut a stupid, long, annoying story short, you’ve had about ten million people pressuring you to stop off at at the planet.

It’s so dumb. You have comms. You have a _space bridge_. But oh, you’re physically in the area? I’m sure we’re not interrupting anything, you can definitely afford to spend a day or twenty on Cybertron. And to add insult to injury, Megatron was able to spin that stupid trial thing so that he gets to relax on the ship. In the interest of not causing panic, something something _whatever_. Which means that you, the _responsible_ co-captain, are stuck in so many political meetings that you’ve barely had time to refuel.

Even when there aren’t official meetings, you’re not sure these politicians spend their time on anything except unofficial meetings. And even if you’ve dodged politics as hard as you can, you’ve still got everyone and their conjunx trying to spend time with you. Which is just the nice way of saying that they want things from you.

In some ways, having a one-on-one with Starscream is nice. Don’t have to worry about causing an interplanetary incident by accident. Don’t have to play nice, or pretend like you actually like him. You can sulk basically as much as you want, and still feel pretty good about being the best leader-type mech in the room.

Besides, while everyone on Cybertron ( _and_ Caminus, _and_ Carcer, etc., etc., _etc._ ) seems to want something from you, and Starscream is in on the game too, he’s obviously distracted. You’re pretty sure he was trying to turn you into his errand boy or something at first. Maybe trying to… get secret information about your crew from you? You’re not sure. Because you don’t caaaaaaaaaaare. But yeah, whatever it is, he’s definitely off today.

At first you think he’s just tired. You’d believe it. Just look at him. But when you decide to be rude and suggest he go home for some recharge, he just brushes you off. And keeps going. Whatever he’s after, he’s dancing around it even more than usual. You’re trapped. Trapped with him until he finally passes out from exhaustion. If only you know what you did to deserve this punishment.

You’re getting more and more frustrated the longer this drags out, but hey. So is he. _Good_. It’s his own fault. You would have run away _days_ ago if anyone would let you. He’s… something about how if you have any information that needs to be spread? Something? Let’s be real, you’re hardly listening anymore, but even if you knew what he was after, at this point, you’d probably keep your mouth shut out of pure spite.

And then, Starscream gets to his feet. You stay where you are, lounging across two chairs. You know better than to expect your freedom by now. Ughhh _hhhhhhh_. But he just leans heavily on his desk for a moment. And then he takes a few quick steps across the room. He grabs— something off the corner of a screen on a wall. Takes a random datapad out of a stack and snaps it in half. _Flips_ his desk so he can pick something off the bottom of it. And then, he actually _shoots_ an empty corner of the room, one shot that leaves the metal black and smoking, and then another one that punches through to the space behind the wall.

You’re— kind of frozen. To be honest. Starscream does something you can’t see with the access pad on the door, then heads back across the room, sets his desk back upright and turns to face you. You don’t have any kind of clue what the expression on his face means, and you’ve got even _less_ clue about what to say.

Starscream breaks the silence first, speaking fast and soft. “We have at least a few minutes, before anyone does something about that. So if you’re going to stop playing dumb, this is your chance. Has he _done_ anything to you?”

You’re increasingly lost. And still stuck on your two chairs. You don’t even know how to move. “What?”

Starscream turns away, starts to pace. “The information can be leaked _discreetly_ , of course. Or— not leaked at all, if you’d prefer. There are still ways to effect change, even without the information being there, in the open. More difficult, of course— but there are options.”

Slowly, carefully, you swing your feet down to the floor. “Look, not playing dumb. Swear. But I honestly don’t have a clue what you’re trying to say.”

He whips around and looks you straight in the optics. His mouth is turned down at the corners. “If I believed you— It would be wonderful. If I believed you.” He takes a step closer. He’s watching you so intently that you have to look away. “There are solutions, you know. There _are_ ways out.”

He turns, pacing again, and you let yourself vent air. “Medical, perhaps. If you have records of some kind, anything that self-repair couldn’t take care of-- But then again, you’ve been going through your medics rather quickly, haven’t you. What was it now— that Camien medic? He’s young, I think? Inexperienced?” Starscream pauses at his desk, drumming his fingers. “If someone told him what to _look for_ —”

You still don’t have any idea what to say to any of this. Whatever’s happening here, it’s less boring than politics is, but you’re even more lost than you are when people start talking trade negotiations.

Starscream turns again. “This isn’t _just_ for you either. _Think about it_. The trial wasn’t all that long ago, it won’t take much to swing public opinion against him—”

“Is this about _Megatron_?”

There’s a moment where you and Starscream just look at each other. And then he laughs high and tight and bitter, and turns away. “Finally caught up, I suppose? Then let me ask again _._ _Has he done anything to you?_ ”

“I— No, I, he—”

“Not necessarily physical. Maybe mental. Emotional. Perhaps even just something you didn’t want to do, until he… _persuades_ you that you really would like to do it. Not even necessarily anything that hurt you.” You can hear him slowly vent. “Though he does certainly like hurting.”

You’re still stumbling over your words. “No, _no_ \-- We-- I mean, just look at me.” You hold out your arms, looking over yourself like you’ll suddenly discover injuries you’ve never spotted before. “Just look. Not a scratch on me.”

And Starscream is there, right in front of you. He grabs you by the shoulders and speaks low and urgent. “ _Internal_? Was it internal? He knows how to not leave marks. He knows. And you could be risking serious damage.” He curses. “Your medic is too young, he might not recognize the signs. Listen, I can take you to Flatline, he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Or he can talk to your medic, tell him what to do. But you need to see someone _right away_ , if any of that damage extends to your spark chamber, you could—”

“He didn’t—” Your voice cuts off, and you reset your vocalizer and try again. “He never did anything to me. Swear.”

The two of you are still frozen together. He still isn’t looking away from you, and you can’t figure out how to look away from him. Eventually, he says, “Your crew?”

You shake your head. “The worst thing he did was try to read poetry to people. Promise.”

He’s still staring straight into your optics. You don’t know what he’s looking for. Finally he drops your shoulders, and as he turns, you can see the way his mouth twists. “I see.”

And after that, he doesn’t say anything else. You don’t have a clue what to say. What are you _supposed_ to say to something like this? You just end up watching him.

Not like Starscream is doing much to move things along to less awkward territory either. He’s got his arms crossed, his back to you, staring out the window. His wings keep flicking and resettling, barely enough to see or hear, just enough that you can’t stop noticing it. You shift uncomfortably, do your best to wait it out. But you’ve never _ever_ been any good at waiting, and it isn’t long at all before the tension is officially _too much_ and you give in and break the silence.

“So—” Starscream turns and gives you the coldest look you’ve ever seen from him, which is _really_ saying something, but since when have you let him tell you what to do? “I mean, did Megatron—you know? Because it sounded like…”

Your voice trails off into nothing. Maybe _Starscream_ isn’t enough to make you shut up, but talking about this—this _topic—_ is harder than you thought.

Starscream hasn’t moved, still glaring across the room at you, but you try one more time. “Because there are ways to get the information out there. Is what you said. Like half a klik ago.” All you really manage is a mutter when you add, “There are people you can tell.”

 _Finally_ , Starscream moves, but you kind of wish he hadn’t. This awful insincere smile spreads across his face, and he steps over to where you’re sitting. And he doesn’t stop, that’s the thing, he drapes himself across your lap, wrapping his arms around your neck and purring, “My _hero_ , what would I _ever_ do without you? I only needed a big strong mech to swoop in and _save_ me—”

“Stop—”

“Oh, no! Certainly not! I was so _helpless_ , I would _never_ have known what to do without you. You have such novel, fresh ideas, and how would I ever have thought of that _revolutionary_ solution all on my own?”

“ _Okay_. Got it. Thanks. Okay. You’ve made your point.”

When you shove weakly at him, he stays where he is. He takes his arms from around your neck, at least. But then he stays right there sitting across your lap. He folds his arms across his chest, and even crosses one of his legs across the other. Personal space is something that happens to other mechs, you guess. One of your arms is left awkwardly hovering over his stomach. Though all things considered, you don’t exactly feel like you deserve to tell him to frag off right now. And when you sneak a sideways look at his face, he looks just as smug as you expected, but even _you_ can tell just how bitter that look in his optics is.

You add, “Sorry.”

“ _You_ didn’t do anything.”

If he’s not moving, you’re not just going to just hold your arm in the air until he decides he’s done with you. Slowly, you let your arm settle across his waist. “Megatron—?”

“Yes,” he says flatly. “And just because he seems to have been behaving on your ship, don’t think I’m anywhere close to trusting him to act decently.”

What are you supposed to say to that? To _any_ of this? You settle on, “I never would have guessed.”

He glances up at you. “As observant and sensitive as you are? Perish the thought.”

You stiffen, half offended and half trying to figure out if this would be the worst possible time to burst out laughing, and as Starscream turns away, you think you catch a faint smile on his face.

“I’ll still tell my medic to talk to yours,” He unfolds his arms and taps the fingers of one hand on the back of your arm. His other arm is lying just next to yours, so close that if either of you shifts, your arms will be right against each other. You do your best to hold perfectly still. Starscream continues, “I’ll have him make up some suitably horrifying anecdote from the city. He can sort out what your medic doesn’t know and pass along all kinds of warning signs and things to watch for.”

You try, “Thanks?” No, _frag_ , you need to do better than that. “Should… he be telling me these things too? Warning signs?”

Starscream laughs. “I’ll already have to bribe him into giving your medic an education, I don’t even want to know how much it would take to get him to lecture _you_. Have your medic pass it along to you on his own.”

“Her,” you say distantly. Your optics are still locked on where Starscream’s hand rests on your arm. And, uh, where your arm rests against his waist, you guess. Yeah, now that you’ve noticed that, it’s pretty impossible to _stop_ noticing it. You can feel the warmth of his plating against the underside of your arm and the faint pressure of his fingers against the top. Which is, you know. Just fantastic. This is not the time or the place, especially not with _Starscream,_ of all mechs. This is probably because he’s still sitting in your lap. Who even does that?

You shake yourself internally, try to get yourself back on track. “Is there—I don’t know, something else I should be doing?”

“Establishing new trading partners for Cybertron on your little trip, like I’ve been telling you to do for the last two weeks?” You stiffen, and he laughs again, and pats your arm. “Oh, you weren’t talking about anything _important?_ Don’t leave anyone alone with him, I suppose, at least not often or for long. Have your medic be watching for those signs. That therapist of yours too, I suppose, though I imagine _he_ knows what to look for.”

His fingers are running along the back of your arm now, just a slow, casual side-to-side, back and forth, right along a seam between your plates. You’d maybe-probably swear it was accidental, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t _distracting_. “Anything else?”

He shrugs. “It may be entirely immaterial.” You look up just in time to see his mouth twist. “Perhaps I was just _special_.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. What else are you supposed to say?

He snorts, though his mouth curls up into a faint smile again. “You _do_ keep apologizing. Should I assume you’re offering to take responsibility?” And—oh. _Ohhhhh._ You are officially the most unobservant mech in the entire universe. Because what Starscream is doing with his hands—not accidental. _Definitely_ not accidental. That isn’t a smile on his face, it’s a _smirk_ , as he continues, “Does that mean you’re planning to… make it up to me?”

Your processor is still racing to catch up, and it _doesn’t help_ that Starscream is trailing one hand up your arm, and every time his fingers brush across another plate, the contact is electric. You’ve almost-nearly-hopefully got your words sorted out by the time his hand reaches your collar, but then as soon as you open your mouth, he runs his fingers right along the cables of your neck, and you completely forget what you were planning to say.

You’re more than familiar with the way Starscream smiles by now. It’s _always_ smug, always stupidly self-satisfied, one hundred percent of the time. But seeing him smiling like that, here and _now—_ You can’t get yourself to look away.

Starscream says, “Yes? No? Were you going to say something, or just planning to leave your mouth hanging open until further notice?”

You shut your mouth, and ignore the way his smile gets even wider. Then open your mouth again, because, just— “You’re sure?”

He just _looks_ at you for a moment, then says, “You’re right, of course, I don’t want any of this. That must be why I initiated it. And why I escalated it when I realized you were even more oblivious than I originally thought. Because I never wanted it in the first place.”

He doesn’t move. You’re—a little frozen. You’re trying to keep up, honest, but all of this is a _little_ disorienting, okay?

Finally, Starscream sighs. “Just get _down here_ , already.”

He wraps an arm around your neck and drags your mouth down to his. Now, this you can manage. You’re half-expecting him to bite you, because, you know. _Starscream_. But he doesn’t, there’s nothing but the soft press of his lips against yours. You, you should slow down, think about this, _anything_ , this is one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done, _which is really saying something—_

But it’s so easy to kiss along the line of Starscream’s mouth. He makes a little muffled noise that is _probably_ another laugh, let’s be real. Your hands moved to his face at some point, you realize. Those are your hands on his cheeks, holding his face steady so you can—kiss him. You still can’t believe this is _happening._ And then his mouth opens under yours and you have all kinds of new things to disbelieve. His glossa drags along your mouth once, then a second time, before you catch up and open your lips for him. He kisses you like he’s staking a claim on your mouth, and all through it you can feel his lips still curving into that same smile, that stupid, smug smile that you should want to punch off his stupid, smug face, and of all the things you’re still struggling to process, you can’t stop trying to figure out when that smile and that mouth became so appealing.

You’re not going to get any answers right now. Because now that Starscream has you where he wants you, he untangles his arms from around your neck. And moves his hands to your spoiler instead. He can’t get at much of it from this angle, but he traces over the top edge, over and over and over until your plating is so oversensitized you can hardly stand it. You’re struggling to stay on top of what you’re doing, it’s, it’s just _kissing_ , you should be able to handle that. When he stutters his rhythm, you catch yourself arching into his hands, chasing that touch. And then, when he slides his fingers down between your spoiler and your back, an involuntary noise slips out of you before you can help it.

You can practically feel the smugness radiating off him now. Right, time to do something about it. You don’t _want_ to take your hands off his face, but if you just—You do leave one hand on him. On his face. Because it’s trapped between your bodies, obviously, not because— _Anyways._ You run your free hand out over his wing, teasing at the trailing edge the same way he’s been teasing your spoiler.

But you can do better than him, _obviously_. This is just an excuse to get your hand out along his wing without giving your game away. Because once he’s settled back down and thinks he knows what you’re doing, you take the opportunity to pinch the very tip of his wing. You swallow the noise he makes, but then you have to bite back some noises of your own when he arches his back, and his, his aft is pressing right against your panel. It shouldn’t be that bad, you should be able to handle this, but with every flex of your fingers, he writhes against you, and maybe, maybe you could solve this if you let go of his wing, but _what if instead_ you kept hold of it, pinching harder and softer and feeling the way he moves and shifts in your lap. His hands are locked tight on your spoiler, and you’re sure not planning to let go of his wing, and you’re not sure where this is going to go, but you’re _very_ much on board.

And then someone knocks on the door.

You freeze for a nanoklik—But no, these rooms have to be at least a little soundproof, you can hear the knocking, but it isn’t like you and Starscream have been _loud_.

And then Starscream opens a comm channel.

He pulls back from the kiss, as cool and collected as if he was just sitting at his desk, and says, “What is it?”

You just about choke. You try to gesture, _something,_ for him to _end that call, right now_. But he just waves dismissively at you.

It’s an _open_ comm channel too, a voice comes from a speaker you can’t see, somewhere on Starscream’s arm is the best you can tell. “Apologies, Lord Starscream, we were unable to establish surveillance contact—”

“ _Clearly_ ,” snaps Starscream. “Perhaps, just a thought to consider, you can’t establish contact because I disabled the surveillance deliberately _._ And why are you here _now_?”

You’re trying to see where that speaker is. You’re trying to guess how sensitive the _microphone_ is. Is it next to one of your vents? You’ve never been so aware of how loudly your fans are running. And Starscream hasn’t made a single move to get out of your lap. No, he notices you trying to spot the speaker and smirks. He shifts slowly, purposefully, grinding his aft down against your panel. You have to let go of his wing to press your hand over your mouth.

“Sir, we were only concerned—”

“Spare me. Who is this?”

Starscream pushes away from you, swings his legs off your lap and stands. For a half moment, you think you’ve caught a break. And then he settles back into your lap, chest to chest, straddling your thighs. He drapes his arms over your shoulders and bends in for another kiss as this whoever-it-is replies.

“Downdraft, sir.”

Starscream barely pulls back far enough to speak. His lips move against yours as he speaks.“Well, Downdraft, consider yourself free to go back to your normal duties. We certainly wouldn’t want you to neglect those.” He reaches down between the two of you, and, and _frag_ , he gets a hand right on your panel. You aren’t expecting it, not, not at all, you clutch at his waist before you can think of it, arching up against him.

“Are you certain, Lord Starscream?”

“Oh, very,” he purrs. “I’m just carrying out some sensitive trade negotiations with Captain Rodimus of the Lost Light, I’m sure you’ve heard of him. We needed a little _privacy_ is all. Isn’t that right, Captain?”

 _Primus_ , he’s pressing his hand against your panel, grinding the heel of his hand right over your spike casing, it’s taking all your concentration to keep your panel closed, and now— “That’s right,” you grit out.

“He and I have made some important progress today. Don’t you agree?”

 _No_ , you mouth, but he only smirks. You manage, “I think we’re beginning to come to an understanding.”

And there, that’s it, your concentration slips and your panel springs open, and there isn’t any force in the universe that could close it again. Your spike is extending right into Starscream’s fingers, but he holds his hand in front of it, unmoving, and you bite your lip and try your hardest not to writhe as your spike struggles to pressurize.

As bland as anything, like he isn’t trapping your spike in his hand, Starscream says, “I think you’ve spent enough time away from your duties now, Downdraft.”

“...yes, sir.”

The moment the comm cuts out, Starscream moves his hand, and your spike finishes extending in one sudden, smooth motion that almost brings you to overload right then and there.

You don’t get a chance to recover, either. Starscream wraps his hand around your spike and says, “He’s Rattrap’s, then. The diplomats would have had the taste to wait a _little_ longer than that to come prying.”

He’s stroking you off, and you can barely find the processing power to keep up with _that_ , never mind a conversation, but he doesn’t seem to care about getting a response. He leans in closer, bracing his free arm across your chest. You can’t tear your optics away from his lips.

He stops, just short of kissing you, and purrs, “And I’ve gotten that information all thanks to you. That deserves some sort of reward, don’t you think?”

You might not be able to manage words, but you can at least manage kissing. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck to pull him in and close that last little distance. It isn’t much of a kiss, because he’s laughing against your mouth and you’re laughing against _his_ , but he hasn’t taken his hand from your spike. And even once you stop laughing, everything is so _much_ , and you’re so close, all you can do is mouth clumsily at his lips and clutch him tight against your chest as he moves his hand against you.

You arch back in the chair when you overload, and Starscream follows you forward, leaning on your chest and grinning down at you as he watches you shudder. Your fans are spinning so hard they ache, and that look in his optics isn’t doing anything to help matters. He doesn’t take his hand from your spike the whole time, not until your spike depressurizes on its own.

Then he glances down, all mock disappointed, and says, “Already?”

You laugh breathlessly. “You knew what you were doing. And don’t even pretend you don’t want a turn.”

He kisses you by way of answer, then pushes back, bracing his hands against your shoulders. He tips his hips up in your lap, spreading his legs even wider. Then he locks optics with you and smirks, then reaches down, and slowly, deliberately, opens his panel.

For a moment, you want to do the same thing Starscream did to you, but when you look down, you’re distracted—is that… is that some kind of _writing_ engraved on the underside of his spike?

So obviously you reach down to see if you can get a better look, but when you tilt his spike so you can see, you feel Starscream stiffen, and he grabs your hand.

You glance back up at him. “Wait, was that— It looks like a quote? Who…?”

You crane your head around, trying to see, and Starscream drops your hand and gets hold of your chin instead. He tilts your head up so you’re looking him straight in the optics, and he quietly, firmly, says, _“_ _No.”_

It really is awful how long it takes you to catch on sometimes, but you do eventually manage it. You feel your plating heat up with embarrassment. “Right, I— Right. Sorry.”

His optics are intent on you for a moment longer, but then his mouth curves into a smile again, and he says, “Didn’t I tell you not to waste time on ‘sorry,’ and to just make it up to me instead?”

You gratefully take the escape and lean in to kiss him. He lets go of your chin to take your hand again and wrap it around his spike. When you get a good grip and stroke him from base to tip, he makes a pleased noise into your mouth. You can feel the engravings right there, under your fingers, but you do your best to ignore them.

At first you try to get your free hand on Starscream’s valve too, and the noises he makes when you touch his node are even better than the noises he makes when you touch his spike. But as you find your rhythm and his fans spin up faster and faster, he throws his arms around your neck, dragging you down into him. You press as close as you can, the way you can feel the heat pouring off him and the way his hands clutch at you is almost enough to get your interface array going again, and you want _more_. But the closer you press, the less space you have to touch him, and—you _want_ to keep touching him, you don’t want to _stop_.

Starscream decides the issue, hitching himself further up against you, and you finally have to take your hand away from his valve. But that just means you have a free hand to wrap against his back and hold him tight against your chest. When you try to pull back for a moment, he bites at your lips and presses himself against you. You stroke his spike as hard and fast as you can manage, and he clings to you, everything is glossa, dentae, and lips, and he gasps words into your mouth that you can’t quite make out. You can feel the way his legs are beginning to shake and how fast his fans are racing and the way he tries to gasp for extra air around the kiss, and you do your best to stroke him just a little harder, just a little faster—

You feel like you wouldn’t mind spending a whole day like this, but he eventually tips over the edge. He’s shaking all the way out to the tips of his wings, and you can feel his transfluid spilling all over your hand and stomach. His hands are so tight on you it almost hurts. He didn’t _break_ the kiss so much as he just _stopped_ , frozen and trembling, his optics offline, his mouth parted, barely any distance between your face and his. You close that distance, kiss him again, and his lips move weakly against yours.

And you can’t look away from him. You could watch him like this for hours. You’re almost disappointed at how fast he recovers. The shivering slows and stops, his optics come back online, his hands uncurl from where they’ve been locked tight around your frame. And then—he shifts back from you, pushes away, and gets to his feet. You don’t even have the time to start feeling abandoned before he takes your hand and pulls you up after him.

When he turns and starts leading you across the room, you don’t know what’s happening, you’re just following him like a tame turbofox. He doesn’t take you far, just to his desk. And then he drops your hand, but just so he can turn, hoist himself up onto the desk, and spread his legs. Oh. _Oh._

The first thing out of your mouth is, “Why are _you_ the one who gets to be spiked?”

Another smirk. “Because I’m the one who took charge of the situation, of course. Why, are you arguing?”

 _No._ “Just asking,” you say. “For… reasons.”

Your spike is already aching with how badly you want this. Him? Point is, you aren’t going to argue with this situation at _all_.

You do take your time enjoying the view. With a little distance, you’re able to really appreciate the nice lines of his frame. Including _particularly_ how he looks like this, his chest spotted with transfluid, legs spread wide and waiting for you. His spike is depressurized now, but he reaches down to trace around the edges of his valve, and you feel a pulse of _wanting_ in your array.

Yeah, that’s enough waiting. You reach down to open your panel again, and stroke your spike as it pressurizes. Your valve can wait, right now you care more about the way you can’t look away from the way Starscream touches himself, teasing around the edges of his valve and node, waiting for _you_.

When you step up between his thighs, his legs wrap around yours, and his arms settle over your shoulders, as natural as anything. One of your hands is on your spike, but the other comes to rest on his waist, and the two of you are frozen like that for a moment, forehead to forehead, looking down between you. When you set your spike against his valve, you’re close enough to feel the way he shivers, and the way his legs spread the slightest bit wider.

You bury yourself in his valve in one smooth motion, and both of you make a quiet sound that doesn’t quite resolve into words. You hesitate for a moment, glance up at Starscream to find him looking up at you. You bring your free hand up, take his cheek and tilt his head back so you can kiss him. His hands slide down to cup your face as he holds you against him. He’s smiling against your mouth again, and so are you, and it’s kind of making a mess of the whole ‘kiss’ thing, but right now you don’t _care_.

You hold out as long as you can before you start moving against Starscream. It feels so _good_ just being there, your frame right up against his, buried in his valve. But every time either one of you moves, your spike shifts inside him, and your whole world shrinks to that _heat_ , to how _tight_ he is around you. So basically, you don’t hold out for very long.

Even then, you start off as slow and gentle as you can manage. Because, as much as you want to frag him through the desk, as much as you want to pound him until he screams your name— If you go too hard or too fast, then you’re going to have to break the kiss. Starscream’s lips are moving against your mouth, his glossa sliding against yours, and his fingers are still soft against your cheeks. So you start slowly.

It’s torture holding back like this, but it’s worth it for the way you can savor the way he shifts against you, trying to work his hips forward against you. His optics are dim, and you can feel the heat his fans are venting against you. Even more than that, you can feel the way his valve clenches around your spike every time you move.

In the end, he’s the one to escalate things. You can feel his hands clutching more and more tightly against your helmet, dragging your face down against his. His legs are locked tight around your hips, and he arches hard against you when you thrust forward into him. He almost pulls you off-balance, and you have to take your hand from his waist to brace yourself against the table. And then—you can’t look down, you _won’t_ look down when he’s kissing you this way. But you can feel his spike slowly pressurizing between the two of you.

He kisses you harder then, messy, all glossa and dentae. His hands finally leave your face, but only so he can wrap his arms around your neck again. He’s holding you so tightly that when he arches into you, his frame leaves the table entirely, and you end up trying to take his entire weight. Yeah, not happening. You manage something like a controlled fall, and end up on top of him, pinning him to the desk, his arms still locked around your neck and his legs around your waist. Your spike still buried in his valve.

You do have to untangle his arms, because you can’t _move_ like this, but you’re not sure how much he understands (or cares), because he keeps trying to hold onto you, until you finally have to take his hands in yours and pin them to the top of the desk, on either side of his head. There, you hesitate for a moment, and just _look_ at him. He’s motionless now, venting hard but quiet, just watching you. When you pull your hips back and fill him again, you can see his optics flicker off, and his lips part.

That’s it, after that, how are you supposed to hold back? You move against him as well as you can with his legs so tight around your hips, as hard and fast as you can manage. You can see his head snap back, and you can hear the way his fans spin up even faster. He tugs his hands from under yours, and you try to release him—but he doesn’t want you to let go, he just wants to tangle his fingers with yours, and then he holds your hands with a grip so tight it makes your fingers ache.

You’re getting to him, but—it’s not like you’re doing that much better yourself. You feel dizzy with how hot he has your systems running, but you don’t want to _stop_. You can’t take your optics from his face, and the way he moves under you—But you’ve got this. You do have _some_ sense of pacing, you swear, you might not know him well enough to be able to tell when he’s close, but you can get him closer than _this_ before you finish.

But then he gasps, “Please— _Rodimus—_ ” and out of nowhere, your overload slams into you.

It almost hurts, how _much_ everything is, as you bury yourself in his valve. You have to grit your dentae with how overwhelming all the _sensation_ is, you can’t even think past how much you’re _feeling_ everything. All you can do is collapse forward on to Starscream, cling to his hands, and shake.

When your optics reboot—you hadn’t even realized they’d shut down—Starscream is watching you with an expression you can’t read. You’re still sprawled across his chest, you realize. And your spike is just finishing depressurizing. Right, you—okay, you’ve got this.

For a moment, you’re worried your arms aren’t going to support you, but you manage to push yourself up and brace against the desk. _Words_ , words are a thing that isn’t happening quite yet. And Starscream’s face—you still don’t know what he’s thinking. But you grab one of his hands and tug him upright. And then you go to your knees between his legs.

You hold his spike out of the way with one hand and press a kiss to his node. You hear a quiet, _“Ah—”_ from above you. Yeah, you’re officially allowing yourself a private smirk of your own before you move on.

Coordination is still a little hit or miss at this point, but you’re going to finish this right or die trying. When you part Starscream’s valve lips with two fingers, you can feel his legs shiver against you. Your transfluid is just starting to drip out of him, and it’s almost hypnotic to watch as you tease around the edges of his valve. But—for now, you’ve kept him waiting long enough. You slide two fingers into his valve, and then press your mouth against him too for good measure. You hear his fans roar even faster, blasting hot air against your head and shoulders.

It’s difficult keeping everything together. You’ve got a hand on his spike, fingers in his valve, and your mouth _on_ his valve. You lick around and between your fingers, pausing to give his node some love every so often, and you try to keep your hands moving as best as you can.

But you’d hazard a guess that it’s doing something for him. The way he’s curled forward over you, clutching at your helmet is a little bit of a clue. The way he’s gasping extra air in through his mouth is another. Or maybe that constant little tremor you can feel running through his legs. He wants to lock them around your head, you think, but with the way your shoulders are built, he has to keep them spread, leaving him wide open and completely exposed.

When you place your mouth over his node, and carefully, gently _suck_ , that’s enough to finish him. He grabs at your helmet so hard that you wonder if you’ll have to check for dents. His legs fight to close, but you stay pressed forward against him, your mouth still on his node, holding him where he is until he finally finishes shaking and braces against your shoulders, trying to push his way upright again.

You rock back on your heels and look at him, but he just goes right over in the other direction, flopping over onto his back on top of the desk. And you know what, that’s a good idea. You’re going to join him, just as soon as you remember how your legs work.

It takes you a few tries, but you get there. The desk is just about large enough for the two of you, even including his wings. The two of you just lie there for a klik or two, without any words, just the hum of your fans. When you finally turn your head to sneak a look at Starscream, you catch him doing the same thing to you, and you _barely_ fight the knee-jerk impulse to pretend you were never looking at him at all. No, you hold that optic contact, like a responsible mech who isn’t feeling awkward about everything that just happened. Yep, that’s you.

You’re trying to find something to say, to break the silence, and having no luck at all. But fortunately, Starscream is more on top of things than you. He says, blandly, “So about those trade negotiations—”

You burst out laughing. After a moment, you manage, “I think it’s my turn to be spiked.”

He gives you a _look_ , and you keep a straight face for _maybe_ a nanoklik before you start laughing again. He holds out for a few moments, but his mouth curves slowly upward, and then he starts snickering too. And after the laughter dies down, he moves his arm so it lies between the two of you.

“Rattrap,” he says. “I’m going to need you to put off the meeting with the Velocitron delegation until tomorrow. I believe Captain Rodimus and I are making some major strides in establishing terms for the trading outreach. We’ll be occupied for the rest of the day, I think.” He looks over at you, and you have to press a hand to your mouth to muffle your laughter.

From the speaker comes, “Really.”

“So skeptical,” Starscream sighs. “I’m not going to throw away this progress to listen to a gaggle of diplomats try to convince me that a justice system based on racing is somehow supposed to be viable. Reschedule that meeting.”

“Yes, sir.”

The comm clicks off. You’re still half-laughing, but you also have to groan. “But I don’t _want_ to find trading partners for Cybertron. We haven’t been establishing anything. We don’t _have_ any terms.”

He jostles your shoulder with his wing. “Then I do hope you’re good at negotiating while getting spiked.”

It’s almost enough to send you off laughing again. You’re that flavor of exhausted where _everything_ is hilarious, apparently.

“Besides,” he adds, more slowly. Almost... carefully. “If you _were_ to take on this position. It would be a convenient excuse to make regular visits to Cybertron.” He gives you an arch look. “You know, if there was anything here worth coming back for.”

You groan and laugh and roll over onto your face—towards him, so your arms bump up each other, even while you bury your face in your hands. “I _promised_ myself I was going to get off this planet without agreeing to run anyone’s errands. I _promised_.”

He’s snickering again, and lifts his hand just far enough to rap on the back of your arm. “I suppose you’ll have to make your peace with disappointment. It happens to the best of us, I assure you.”

You roll back up onto your side, just enough that you can reach out to snag Starscream’s waist and pull him up closer against you. And then you flop right back down, this time with your face buried in Starscream’s shoulder. You still kind of can’t believe this is _happening_ , and when you steal a sideways look at Starscream’s face, it looks like he’s feeling the same way.

“Trade negotiations,” you mumble. “Okay. What’s a trade negotiation and why do I want one? I’m kidding, but only halfway. And talk fast, because the sooner we get these terms worked out, the sooner we’ve got the rest of the day left to ourselves.”

“If you fall asleep,” he says, “I’m going to assume you’re agreeing to everything I propose.” You can feel him shifting under you. For a moment you think he’s going to steal his arm back, but instead he only moves enough that his hand slowly comes to wrap around your waist.

“Rude.” Your arm is still lying across him, but you let your hand curl against the curvature of his chestplate. “You should probably assume I disagree with everything you say, on principle.”

Dryly, he says, “Shockingly, I _am_ trying to enact policies that will benefit Cybertron as a whole.”

“Okay, _okay,”_ you tell him. You can feel the hum of his engine through his plating, and you can still feel his fans venting hot air against you. “Go ahead, talk to me. I’m listening.”


End file.
